


Come Home With Me

by serenadinsirens



Category: Funhaus RPF, Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alcohol, Drunkenness, M/M, Prompt Fill, Shiphaus - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-31
Updated: 2015-05-31
Packaged: 2018-04-02 02:58:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4043209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenadinsirens/pseuds/serenadinsirens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>prompt fill for tumblr.</p>
<p>When you’re intoxicated, there seems to be a lot more colors on the visible light section of the electromagnetic spectrum than you would normally have recognized. But damn, Bruce Greene realizes, they sure do make life seem more beautiful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come Home With Me

**Author's Note:**

> for Melissa, my favorite grillems trash. Enjoy, as always! I have an inability to write fics that are less than 1k.

When you’re intoxicated, there seems to be a lot more colors on the visible light section of the electromagnetic spectrum than you would normally have recognized. Or maybe your brain just recognizes fewer and can’t put the names to chartreuse, glaucous, amaranth, or deep kaomaru, and decides that holy  _shit_ when did all of these new shades of violet show up? But cyan, magenta, and yellow blur together in kaleidoscopic patterns, meshed blotches of acrylic paint left on the canvases of the street signs outside of your favorite regularly visited bar.

Damn, _fuck_ , though, Bruce Greene realizes, they sure do make life more  _gorgeous_.

His body droops sideways, against the brick exterior of  _Mastadon’s_ and the red fluorescence of the beaten, whale grey hatchback in front of him’s taillights chase his vision and take a dive along with him, the light following its negative slope and hitting the puddles of rain on the pavement. He closes his eyes and lets his head rest against the bar’s wall, the music coming out from the surrounding buildings resonates against his fingertips on the cool sidewalk. 

“Oh, there you are. How long have you been out here?”

Bruce looks up at the sound of the familiar voice and wonders when James’ eyes became one of the colors he’d forgotten.

“Hello, beautiful,” he barely manages out and gives his friend that had been staring down at him with his lips in an unperturbed line, the best, albeit weak, smile he could achieve at that singular point in history. James lets out a laugh that sounds more like a tired huff and Bruce is in love, “I went to go find the bathroom but, uh, found here instead. It was raining.”

“I see,” James says, putting his back to  _Mastadon’s_ and sliding down to sit next to Bruce, “ and why, if it’s at all worth asking, were you sitting out here in the  _rain_?” 

“Well, it wasn’t fuckin’ rainin’ while I was out here. But there’s  _puddles_ , James,” he thrusts his hand out to point at the aforementioned puddles on the asphalt, but his pointer finger misses and instead aims at a license plate that says ‘luv8008′. Holy  _shit,_ ** _love boob_**. 

“That there is,” James quips and pulls out his phone to look at the time as Bruce looks between ‘love boob’ and and his friend because, fucking  _love boob_ , James, the license plate says  _love boob_. “Bruce, dude, how drunk are you right now?” 

Bruce does his damnedest to consider James’ question but realizes that when he’s still thinking about ‘love boob’ even after the blue ford escort has already driven away, the answer was pretty easy to come to.

“I am really fuckin’ drunk, James, like, I’m fuckin’  _drunk_ ,” he replies with a caricature of despair, hoping that his outstretched arms really emphasized the magnitude of his immense drunkenness, even if he forgot to mention that that’s what the gesture stood for. But James would know. James always knew. That was their thing; understanding each other’s unspoken ideas when no one else could. 

James isn’t looking at his arms, though, he’s leaned in closely and is staring into his dilated pupils and Bruce has learned that when James gets this close, to hold his breath and  _watch_ , “yeah,” he says, eyes flickering as he studies him, “you, uh, you definitely are, buddy.”

And he falls in love with him again. Bruce doesn’t know what God was thinking when he sculpted James Willems into the (quite literally, he’d talked about this with everyone who’d come in contact with the man and none of them could really figure it out) _actually_ perfect human being that he was, but he thanks him for at least allowing them to meet. But there was something about James’ immaculateness that had his heart ripping in half- not in a heartbreak kind of way, but being stuck between crashing to the Earth and ascending to the heavens. It was a pull to a person that he’d never felt before in his life, but it had his breath in his throat and his brain above his skull.

Bruce doesn’t say anything, but the version of himself living eleven hours in the future regrets drinking so much as he remembers this exact moment; when Bruce closes the gap and  _kisses_ him.

James’ lips part, and Bruce drinks up the gasp of surprise that leaves them as his hand comes up to cup his cheek, and the air leaves his lungs through his nostrils in a light exhale. He doesn’t think about his friend sitting stone solid and static, instead focusing on the soft press of their lips together and the sound of ACDC waving over head from inside the bar and the screech of tires against the street and the after scent of rain. 

_God_ , he loves him so much.

He supposes that he should have saw it coming when James is pushing at his shoulders and pulling away, but the fondness that’s in his friends eyes keeps him from feeling any embarrassment, rather feeling his heart swell against the confinements of his chest as James gives out tired chuckle and looks away.

“Okay, well, let’s not do this when there’s so much alcohol on your mouth that I could literally get drunk just from kissing you. I have to drive home,” James chimes behind his smile and Bruce, whose hand is still cupped to his face, rubs his thumb against the dimple on his friends cheek. James lets out a startled laugh and pulls away completely this time, grabbing Bruce’s hand as he stands up, and tugs him with him. “Who was supposed to be driving you home?”

Bruce stumbles as he gets to his feet, “uh, Adam, I think,” he says, “he was in charge of me n’ Lawrence. Oh right, where is Lawrence? I said I was going to the bathroom, and…”

“Why don’t you let me?” James says suddenly and Bruce looks up to meet him.

“What?” Bruce asks dumbly.

“I mean, why don’t you come home with me?” James elaborates, but the words hang above his brain above his head and it takes a couple seconds for him to process their meaning. But when he does, it’s a punch to the goddamn abdomen and he stops breathing altogether. “You’re drunk off your ass, anyways. Shouldn’t really hurt to stay the night, right?’

“Oh,” Bruce says and his intelligence really does soar in that two letter utterance, “right,  _yeah_ , I mean, sure. I guess.”

“Yes?” James asks and puts his hands on Bruce’s shoulder and looks him in the eyes and Bruce isn’t exactly sure what sort of validation he’s looking for, but he’ll do his damnedest to give it to him.

“Uh, yes.”

“Okay then,” James says and nudges him towards the door into the bar. “Let’s go find Adam and Lawrence and let them know that you’re not being dropped off at your apartment.” And Bruce follows James’ guiding hand on his back as he pulls open the door to the bar and his ears are flooded with old school rock and roll music and light chatter. He feels James brush up against him as they move forward together, and intertwines their fingers. Bruce smiles.

He really  _was_ happy.


End file.
